


Everything

by ChrisBranNorling



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Aasimar, Devil, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Homebrew Setting, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Nonbinary Character, Other, Patron, Warlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 19:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17167550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisBranNorling/pseuds/ChrisBranNorling
Summary: At the end of their ropes, an aasimar on the run finds something, but at what cost?





	Everything

**Author's Note:**

> The violence described is just the effects of acid on flesh, pain, as well as the healing of such damage.

They had stolen into this fallen relic like a thief in an effort to evade the group that was after them. A band so willing to take and maim for their apparent godly heritage, or whatever these white wings meant. The feathers lift up a little in a ruffle as they shake their head. The wings that meet their head above the ears are curled over their face, softness grazing their cheeks as they try and listen.  
Rough, trampling footsteps, not too far away.

A heavy sigh works out of their chest, but they keep it low. The rough stone clings and grabs at their ratty clothes as they pull away from it, retreating further into the ruins. The darkness of it doesn’t bother them, aiding them instead as they skirt through the deeper shadows, wary of anything at this point.

The scrape and clatter of falling debris makes them flinch away, their hidden eyes training over onto the area it came from, only to see an even darker, deeper shape slip down to the ground. The shape gets up, looming taller and taller, until it’s top seems to graze against the crumbling ceiling.

Chitters fill their ears as bits of it stand out in their grey vision. Antennae cast around the room as it slouches over again, front limbs coming to aid it’s steps, probably attempting to find something, whatever disturbed it, probably them. They try to skirt around the opposite side of the room they had come into, as the creature clicks and clatters towards the entrance.

They almost make it to the far door, but they feel their foot graze over a teetering stone, and it clatters against the floor. The chittering of the monster stops, and when they look back, they can see long mandibles trained towards them.

It rears up and there’s a faint gurgling sound, then an acrid smell filters through the air moments before something surges out of its mouth and towards them. They leap back, but not before some of it splashes against their leg. What they understand to be acid eats quickly through their thin clothes and bites at them, digging in deep past their skin, flesh, to the point they can feel it start to eat at their very bone.

A barely cut off cry of pain and their leg gives out, causing to collapse as voices filter through the stones above the room.

“I heard something!”

“Maybe it’s below.”

The monster turns upwards before it even tries to cross the room towards them and screeches, surging upwards with a leap and breaks through the layer of stone. There’s shouts and yells as it no doubt breaks out in the middle of the group that was hunting them. But that’s their problem now.

Gritting their teeth, they heave themself up, clinging to the wall nearby as all of their weight goes to their uninjured leg, and they hop as best as they can through the small corridor that they had been making for previously. Stumbling out of it, they have to quickly swing back, as beyond is a bare room with a small alcove on the far end, but nothing for them to lean on unless they skirt around the edge.

They bring up a hand, the pale skin of their palm start to glow, bright for a moment, then even brighter before they’re forced to turn it away from their eyes lest they get blinded by it as their palm starts to heat up under the intensity of it. Curling their leg up, they bring their hand down to their calf where most of the damage is, and they press the light harshly into the wound. Air hisses through their teeth as pain sears through their flesh there, but the pockmarks dotting their bone start to smooth out, and as they lift their hand, the light fading, a couple layers of swollen muscle start to knit over the pale bone. It’s not nearly enough to fix themself, but it’s a start.

Hesitantly, they lower their foot to the ground, putting some weight on it, but suck in a breath when the acid etched edges of their wound pulse and scream pain through their system. Swallowing the bubbling cry that wants to work its way out of their throat, they hobble as quick as they can through the middle of the room with their eyes swirling around, trying to pick up on something, anything that might try and kill them. But the only thing they do pick out, as they draw closer to the alcove, is something tethered to the wall. The shades of grey make it hard to truly pick it out, but it’s thin, a pole?

Getting closer, they pick out a little more. An embellished and ornate tip. Long pole with a blunt end. A spear. One fitting someone that they have never met and will never get the chance to meet.

They reach out, ready to pull back quickly, but nothing happens as their fingers wrap around the pole, skin connecting with its cold surface. Pulling it off of its mount, they marvel at it for a moment. It’s not made of crystal, or wood. It must be something else. Metal? Why would something so precious be left here?

This might fetch a lofty number of shards, more than they might be able to carry, if they could find someone willing to work with them.

‘You wish to sell what is mine?’

The cold grows, and they feel the innate heat of their body start to get leached away. Their fingers, once so ready to quickly release, tense and tighten without their permission around the haft of the spear. Small sparks of frost start to blossom over their bare skin, further chilling them as their heart picks up, panic consuming their mind as something starts to press against it.

‘Now now, don’t be scared.’

Frost continues to creep up the length of their arm, spreading like filigree over their skin, leaching more and more of their heat away, and their body is still, unable to move. Upwards and upwards, spanning over their neck, cheek, until it touches the base of one of their wings. Only then does it stop. The hold that overtook their body seems to slip away, and they collapse, energy and warmth. Spear clattering to the ground in front of them, their hand lays open against the cool stone, not enough strength left in them to even curl their fingers as all they can do is wait.

Each eye feels like it blinks individually as lethargy washes over them. Their wings droop further down their face as the frost clinging to their skin starts to melt away.

Minutes, maybe longer, slowly crawl past with nothing more happening except for them managing to twitch their fingers.

Eventually though, the spear starts to rattle, metal clanking against the stone before it raises up, then settles back into their open hand.

‘Now that’s better,’ the voice is a little strained this time, but they don’t speed their mind past noticing the deepness of it. ‘Come closer.’

The command is soft and warm, but all encompassing as they find themself leaning down to the spear, their drooping wings falling open slightly with feathers grazing the metal. This makes their face open and visible to the spear, to whatever is inside of it. Pale skin, dirty white hair, even dirtier white wings that usually fold over their eyes. All of their eyes, so many of them scattered and strewn over the top of their face and into the undersides of the wings. They‘re all different in size and shape, and they assume the pupils and irises are all different as well, but they’ve never been able to see them. Because as their wings fall open a little more, light starts to shine from each of their eyes. Bright light floods the area, bringing the spear and the area around them into stark relief.

It is golden and shining, definitely how they imagined metal as it was described to them some time ago.

‘What is such a lovely thing as you doing here all alone?’ The voice is almost reverent now, and the warmth of the spear starts to creep back into their cold fingers.

“Hhhh-hiding,” they have to force it out, multiple voices echoing faintly along.

‘From a game?’ The words curl through their head, vaguely energizing as their fingers twitch some more. ‘Or a hunt?’

Answering that would mean, understanding the consequences of getting caught. So they stay silent, their wings curling back up towards their face and cutting off the light.

‘That’s answer enough, little dove.’

The warmth coming from the spear surges through their body and they sag forwards at the sudden control they have again. Placing their empty hand against the ground, they use it to push themself back, but put weight onto their etched leg. Sending them immediately to their other side and curling against the ground, the pain sudden and intense.

‘Would you like me to heal you?’

Their brows pinch in more than just pain.

‘I can, if you promise me something first.’

There’s a slow nod, their feathers grinding against the stone.

‘Perfect,’ they can feel the area where the haft lays over their palm start to burn, the searing of their skin doesn’t make them flinch as it hides under the rest of the pain before it all starts to recede into a heavy throb, the pain slowly seeping out and leaving more warmth in its wake.

‘You must promise me that you will take me out of here.’

They curl up a little more, nodding and bringing their leg up to see. Through the tattered remains of their pant leg, they can see the flesh knitting back together, but the area is tinged with fire that sparks black.

‘You must tell me that you promise, lovely, before I can finish.’ The fire wavers, and the knitting flesh slows, nearly stopping.

“Yes,” they rush out, “It hurts.”

‘There’s my good dove.’

Their body unlocks as the pain disappears and they sag against the ground.

‘Those who hunt and crawl above,’ the voice feels like its crooning in their ear, ‘I can help you with them as well.’

“I can stay,” they flinch as their body starts to unwind, and they shift to lay on their side, letting the stone cool their skin. But their palm starts to burn under the weight of the metal spear.

‘You promised that you would take me out of here.’

“Soon.” Flexing their fingers, the pain starts to recede again. “There is a monster outside. They drew it to them.”

‘Everywhere has monsters, little dove.’

Letting out a small hum, their eyes slip closed.

 

They blink open a second later, cool stone no longer beneath their cheek, against their feathers. Redness clings to the rocky pillars that drop from and climb towards the ceiling that surround the room. All eyes get drawn towards one side, as if by a tether.

There is a chair, well, more like a throne. Something they were told that ancient kings sat in, to look down on their subjects. It seems to be just for that purpose, because it’s occupied. A dark shape sits upon it. The red light of the room casts his skin a deep, dark red as equally dark eyes look at them. He wears not much but a loincloth over his waist, hiding near nothing.

Working their arms to push themself up, they keep their eyes focused on him as warmth seeps into their skin. He doesn’t move, his head propped up on one arm against the throne. Legs curve backwards, then forwards again, ending in long toes and claws. Horns curve up and back over his head.

They manage to get onto their knees, and rests their body onto their legs, hands curling against their thighs as they watch back. Neither move for a long time until they push up, coming to stand on threadbare slippers.

“What are you, little dove?” He finally speaks, and they flinch back, breaking whatever length of sight they had, shifting to watch the ground, all too used to that question, even if not the strange term.

“An abomination,” is their hollow reply.

He stands, toes curling against the steps as they come down from their short dais. Claws tap against the stone as he comes close, the heat growing as he does.

“Would an abomination hold my interest as thus?”

Their head jerks up at that, and they’re forced to take a step back, as he came much closer than they thought, standing not a foot away and towering over them. His eyes are only two, pure black. His skin is a deep red, almost black as well. His teeth are white and sharp as his mouth opens, lips forming around his next words.

“Would an abomination struggle so much to live?” His hand comes up, and his fingers graze against their primaries. 

A rush of shame winds through them and they pull away. The shame of existing, of living, of wanting to keep going even though each step brings cries of anger at their very existence.

He lashes out, fingers curling into the hair at the top of their head and bringing them close before they can pull away again. Hair tears from their scalp at the force of their grip and their wings flash open, bright golden light flooding the immediate area. It does nothing to shake him, only throwing his features in sharp relief as his other hand comes up and wraps around one of their wings. The grip is loose, but threatening to squeeze.

“You have struggled and fought. You have been abandoned time and time again. Yet you do not easily take the hand of one who can help you.” Baring his teeth, he lets them lower their wings, the light blinking out before dragging them over to the raised dais of his throne, all but throwing them against the small set of steps. “Do you take their words to heart so much that you let yourself suffer?”

Wings shift, the feathers puffing up a little in defiance to his true words as they settle back, wary of moving at all, but not letting their back become fully flush with the stone.

“How long can you keep this up?” One of his feet presses against the stone beside them and he looms back over them again. Fingers come gently to their wings again, grasping one of their coverts, then yanking it out. A flash of pain sears through their wing and into their head and they cry out, hands coming up to try and ward off a similar attack again, but he only holds the feather up in front of them. “Until your wings are plucked beyond repair? To the point where you’re bare and blind and at the mercy of all those who wish to scorn and hate you for the accident of your birth?”

The feather gets let go, but it does not fall, instead floating for a moment before zipping towards them, and there’s a pinch as it seems to settle back into their wing, the pain but a sudden memory.

“Will you die? Broken and beaten because there’s nothing inside of you but shame.”

Each word feels like a blow, and they sink further and further against the steps. What’s left of their wings, just mounds of bone and flesh press and drag against it. But something more than that shame squirms within them. It burns, stretching and pulling at scars more than decades old.

“No.”

He grins at that, like their small act of defiance was just what he wanted. “Then what will you do, aasimar of Istria?”

Looking down at their hands, they flex their fingers. Nothing. He sags against the stone, watching instead the faint glimmer of light across its rough surface.

There is a harsh breath that is warm against their skin and his hand comes up, fingers curling around the fragile bend of their wing. He grips it harshly and yanks their head back to face him. Bones grind against each other, his fingers damaging the feathers, pressing against eyes. Faint light flickers in and out, not enough strength to make any impact.

“I said, ‘What will you do?’”

The pain makes them grit their teeth, mimicking the devil’s own barred grin.

“Nothing.”

He lets them go once more, staring down at them as they sag. “You lay at the feet of one of the most powerful devils in Istria, and you have already promised me one thing. How about you promise me more?” A large hand comes to their cheek, cradling it with a gentle and foreign touch, and all they can do is remain silent, unknowing of what he wants.

Both of his hands come to touch their face, thumbs stroking their pale skin. He gently urges them up, helping them stand, and slowly pushing them back as they take steps up to the throne. Soon, they have no choice but to sit in it, the stone pushing against the backs of their knees, and he’s towering over them, dark eyes deep, full of mystery, and potential?

“I can promise you a name. A place to belong.” He slowly leans in until his lips are grazing the pointed shell of their ear. “My affection.” Then draws back, a hand leaving them. “But most importantly, my power.”

There is a sudden flash of gold, and the spear they had found is within his now free hand. Red shadows and shapes flicker over the meta surface, entrancing. Their palm starts to ache, where it had before burned them.

He twirls it easily around his fingers, displaying what worth it may yet have to them. Fire sparks then flares from the head, brilliant and almost white hot, but instead of becoming lighter at the core, it grows darker. The centre of the flame as it gets dragged through the air is black as pitch, fading out to golds and yellows, then orange and red. It halts suddenly, straight and still in his hand as he looks back at them, the strange fire winking out.

“But only if you promise to never say any name but mine and the one I gift you.” He lets go entirely. “That you never fall or abandon your ideals.” Holding the spear out, as if for them to take. “Follow every order and surrender everything that you are, were, and will be to me.” He pushes the metal encased promise a little closer. “Accept these terms and become mine.”

Warmth radiates from him, or the spear, from somewhere. It seeps into their cold, pale skin, making their insides squirm and scream to accept and be made whole again. Let him fill their empty chest, with his fire, his words, his promises. They reach out, and grasp the spear, fingers curling around the heated metal.

A deep growl resounds from his chest, and he yanks the spear back towards him, bring them along with it. Dipping down, he seals their lips together. Pressing and unyielding for a moment before he slips them open, pressing his tongue against their lips, and pushing inside.

The heat of him against them once more makes them whimper, especially because of the form it takes, the intimacy that they have never felt before. Even as he pushes inside, they open willingly, letting the brand of his tongue fill their mouth and sear their flesh. It is overwhelming, to the point where all their eyes feel like they’re starting to burn, that every bit of moisture is sucked from their mouth for the heat that fills it.

It starts to pour down their throat, slipping down into their chest, their core. Sweat beads on their dirty skin as it worked its way through them, this searing warmth. All they can do is suck weakly on his tongue as it curls around theirs, gripping them somehow in this intimate way.

Eventually though, he pulls back,. Their entire body throbs, gasping for breath as they collapse back against the throne, spear in hand. Sparing a few eyes, they feel soft red cloth unfurl under their weak fingers accompanied by little trails of golden dangling metal that sway with every movement. Just as they focus on him again, he leans in, a hand coming to the arm of the seat to balance himself, his burning lips pressing close to their ear again.

“I am Eruz. And you are my Enoch.”

 

All of their eyes blink as one and they are back in that grimy stone room, sitting in the alcove that held the spear. They open their mouth, but it is dry, and their tongue is numb. The object that started this remains in the hold of their loose fingers, and as their eyes go over its length, they feel warmth in their chest that slowly imbues them with the strength to stand.

Using the spear first as a crutch and clinging to the soft wrapping, they hobble towards the door they came in from. As they reach it, there are faint sounds echoing through the hall beyond. Shouts and screeches. The monster from before . . . and their hunters.

‘How about we take care of that, Enoch?’ His voice slips through their head like silk.

Enoch’s shoulders tense, before their whole body feels like it relaxes, almost tipping their body forwards until they take a solid step with their once acid ravaged leg, only pristine and new skin remaining there

“Yes, Eruz.” Warmth surges through their body and down their arm. The tip of the spear ignites with that queer fire as they step towards the ongoing battle.

**Author's Note:**

> The setting for this is a desert country called Istria. In its past, the gods fought the primordials, but mysteriously vanished afterwards. This caused a lot of ire towards them, their memory, and anything to do with them. So, one can imagine what might become of an aasimar in such a place. Istria is also a place nearly entirely devoid of metal, making it extremely rare and valuable. In its place are crystals which have become a central feature of culture there.
> 
> This is also a reupload of something I posted a little while ago. I wanted to rewrite it to be more inline with the world and to get a better handle of the dynamic between my character and their patron.


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